Addiction
by ceridwen-amyed
Summary: To Trinity, addiction only becomes a problem when others see it. But it’s hard to keep something like love under wraps for long…


Some Neo/Trinity type ficlet thing I wrote, trying to get over some writer's block. 

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**Addiction**

_By Christine Bubbles_

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_Why do I drink the feeling dry?_

_Don't go too far, limitation scars._

- Beauty on the Fire – Natalie Imbruglia

He was like an addiction, but one she could control. She could tell herself that she would only watch him for two hours and by and large, when the two hours were up she left the core and went to do something else. It didn't matter that those two hours stuck with her all day and that she replayed over and over again. It didn't matter that she craved these sessions more than food or sleep or that they were the only calm point of the day. As long as no one noticed, no one saw how deep she was, everything was okay.

To Trinity, addiction only became a problem if others saw it. She thought that Cypher might suspect something, because Cypher always suspected something. He always seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, something that put Trinity on guard. He was too intuitive. And yet he was the only person in the crew she could share a comfortable silence with. With everyone else, she felt the silence heavily and pointless banter and dinner table chitchat covered faint embarrassment.

Things had changed since Morpheus had first pointed out Neo to her. Now she preferred the chitchat to Cypher's haunted gazes.

Watching potentials on the monitors was strangely intoxicating, like a reality TV show with the sound turned down. Meaningful conversations in the Matrix meant nothing to the vigilantes, a fact that had spawned a game of placing bets on what the conversation was about; was he trying to get that girl to go to bed with him, or was he just asking for a light? Trinity played along with these games, trying to pass the time and forget the gnawing feeling inside of her every time they saw a new coppertop. She remembered the Oracle all too well at times like that.

There was none of that with Neo. For one thing, he didn't seem to talk to many people, so no bets were made. The first time Trinity saw him he was not talking to colleagues, or even searching the Net for Morpheus. He was sitting out on his fire escape feeding a stray cat the remnants of his dinner. 

Morpheus told them that they would watch Neo over the Matrix winter; he had made mistakes in the choosing of potential Ones, and he didn't want this one to pop. He wanted Trinity to watch him carefully; he trusted her. Trinity was glad for the excuse; even then, even when Neo was nothing but strips of code, there was something there. Addiction. Intoxication. She could not avert her eyes.

Watching someone like that for so long made it seem like you knew them; like they were a friend. Which was a lie, of course. The Matrix could not tell you what a person's thoughts were. Like so many things, the Matrix fabricated a lie, and every time, they all bought into the lie until the coppertop was unplugged and they weren't the person you'd assumed them to be. Trinity knew this, but felt that there was something different about Neo… She felt that when she read his code, she saw more than the code. She saw him.

"I don't see what Morpheus sees in this one," said Switch one night. "He's just another lone hacker with nothing better to do." Switch always was the cynic. Trinity had more hope for Neo. She liked the fact that he feed stray cats his unfinished dinner, that eventually he started buying cat food along with the Chinese food, beer and chocolate that he existed on. That he gave a beggar the dollar he was going to use to get the bus home and walked instead. That he helped his landlady out with her garbage.

They started watching him in December, and all that December, Trinity watched him wake up in the morning and scramble around his poky apartment, as if this were the first time he'd had to get ready for work. He'd start to brush his teeth and then try to shave, the toothbrush still in his mouth, before switching on his computers, pulling on his socks and opening the window to let the cat in to sleep the day away on his bed. When he dressed she looked away from the monitors, telling herself that she was doing so to not violate his privacy and not because of the hot flush that crept up her cheeks. When she looked back he would always stand in the middle f his apartment, looking a little lost before starting the search for an item of clothing he'd lost; a tie or a sock. It always seemed to Trinity to be a tiny miracle each time he left his home, dressed in an ill-fitting suit, sometimes his chin still covered with stubble.

Stupid, she tried to tell herself. He's not the One. He can't be; look how unorganised he is, how he doesn't remember where he put the washing up liquid and loses his socks. Surely the One will be organised, punctual, impeccable. The One will have an air of wisdom, of power about him; not an air of general bewilderment and despair about the world. The One will control his own destiny, and not be shunted along by crowds and overbearing colleagues.

Neo's not the One, Trinity told herself. And anyway, it doesn't matter what I think. Morpheus believes, and maybe that's enough. Deep down, a secret part of Trinity that only reared its head when she lay alone in her cot, trying to keep the cold out, _wanted him to be the One. Because then Morpheus would free him and she could see what colour his eyes really were._

"Stupid and selfish!" she hissed one night into her pillow. She should wish him to be the One so the war would end, not because of some pathetic fantasy of another head resting against her pillow and arms encircling her. You don't know him, don't know what he's like. He's just like all the rest, just another lonely, socially-inept hacker, unable or unwilling to connect to others.

He's just like you.

Just like her. And he is, she decides, when in January he sells his car. She doesn't know why he sells it; perhaps because he wasn't using it enough. It was hard to get parking in the city. He sells it to a teenage boy, whose delirious expression makes Trinity think that he will probably use it as a making out wagon. She can tell this saddens Neo; as the young man drives it away, he looks momentarily lost even though the car was nothing special. Trinity remembers the day she sold her bike, not too long before Morpheus freed her. She remembered feeling as if she was losing a part of herself when it was driven away, like she had tucked a part of her away in the saddlebag and forgotten to take it out before selling it.

She doesn't know why, but she can tell that Neo feels for cars what she felt for bikes. She can't say why they hold significance. Perhaps he too came from a small town and a car was his escape. The reason doesn't matter.

Neo watched the car until it was long gone and then went back inside, feed the cat, helped the lady living a floor above fix a broken tap and then switches his computer on. He stares at it, stares at Morpheus's image, the headlines about him and his terrorist group. Eventually, he drags himself to bed and lies there, hands behind his head staring at the ceiling. Trinity's fingers fly across the operator keyboard and the code changes; now it is as if she watches him from the ceiling. As if he is looking right at her.

Suddenly it doesn't matter that this man is asleep, nothing but a battery believing its alive; it doesn't matter that the code isn't real and that he can't see her. They were worlds apart and yet for all she knew, he could be in a field directly above her. For a moment, it felt like he knew she was watching him and was just waiting... waiting to be freed. Waiting to be with her.

The little LCD clock in the corner of the screen told Trinity that her time was up. Time to go to bed.

She couldn't bear to leave and hated herself for the weakness, for the addiction. He was a drug, her very own personal drug and she couldn't stop the feeling that was building behind her eyes, her heart and her cold skin.

She didn't even know him and already she couldn't leave his side.

"What is it about him?" Cypher leaned against the back of her chair. "Why are you--"

"Morpheus wants me to do this," said Trinity. Cypher's breath was in her hair, his voice in her ear.

"Yeah, maybe" he said, and left.

He knows, she thought. Her eyes did not leave the screen.

"Just remember." Cypher's voice floated back to her, loud and clear. She clenched her fists. "He's going to pop. He's too old. Don't get too attached." She could hear the smirk in his voice.

"You don't know shit about him," she whispered, and then she knew that she was in too deep.

_You don't know him either._

Days passed, and Neo didn't change. He still got dressed haphazardly in the morning, wearing odd socks and the cat coughed up fur balls on his bed. Still searched the Net, eating noodles and hacking, hacking, hacking. Trinity half-smiled. Everyone was addicted to something.

He lay in bed again, staring at the ceiling, and Trinity watched him like he was watching her. She stared at the monitors until she felt like she drowning in the code. It hurt her eyes, but she didn't blink.

You've gone too far, she thought. She'd thought this often, but she didn't know what to do about it. Cypher knew. Switch and Apoc smirked at her. Mouse had stopped trying to pimp her off to one of his digital creations. Only Morpheus treated her the same; whether it was because he hadn't noticed or because he was going to allow her this one weakness, she didn't know. She wasn't sure which she would have preferred.

Addiction was definitely a problem now. She'd told herself that if it ever got this far, she would pull out, rise to the surface for air. She had not banked on Neo dragging her down like an albatross around her neck. Perhaps he was a punishment, or a teasing glimpse of an elusive future where war didn't matter as much as a kiss.

She turned away the monitors abruptly to look at the rest of the core, rubbed her eyes; ghostly trickles of code lingered beneath her eyelids. She was going to give herself a headache if she kept staring. She was tired of feeling like this, tired of watching, and waiting, and wondering… Something had to give, and she would be damned if it would be her. She was a soldier, a damn good one, one of the best.

_Even soldiers have their sweethearts_.

"Trinity."

She jumped slightly and turned to see Morpheus watching her. She felt herself flush, certain that he knew, that he saw how pathetic she was being. That thought didn't bother her as much as the thought that he might forbid her to watch Neo did.

"He's ready," said Morpheus. When she didn't reply, he continued. "He is the One, Trinity. I know it."

"You want me to contact him?" she asked, pleased and proud at how steady her voice is. As long as she was poised and outwardly in control, it didn't matter that she was spiralling down inside. Image is everything

Morpheus nodded. "Yes. Use the Heart o' the City."

"Right." Trinity got out of her chair. 

"Switch will take your place in a few hours," said Morpheus, which struck Trinity as a little odd. Perhaps he had noticed something… "You look a little tired," he added, seeing the expression on her face. "I don't want-"

"I'm fine," interrupted Trinity, more out of habit then anything else. She was always fine. Never to happy, never to sad. Just fine.

Morpheus smiled a little sadly. "I know."

Trinity cast one last look at the monitors. Neo had got out of bed and gone back to his computer, slipping headphones over his ears and staring blankly at the screens. She wondered if he would fall asleep over the keyboard again.

It's only when she sat down in her chair and Morpheus slid the spike into the back of her head that she realised that tonight was the night. She would meet her addiction face to face. It was time to realise who he really was. That he wasn't just green code running behind her eyelids, even when she wasn't looking at the monitors. If he was really how she imagined him, if his hands were warm and eyes brown and that he was kind and a little lost in the world.

She was afraid. If he wasn't like her dreams, then the disappointment would be crushing; if he was… it meant that everything would change. It would be like letting a heroin addict loose in an opium den. She prepared herself for disappointment. She would not break in front of him, she would be the cool professional, keeping her distance and reeling out line after line until he took the bait.

She would not break in front of him.

Remember, she thought, as the Matrix glided over her senses, image is everything. Infatuation is nothing. And that's all it is, a silly infatuation because you're lonely and cold, and it's been far, far too long…

He's just like all the others. He's not the One. He's just a lonely man trying to make sense of a world that's let him down.

She desperately hoped that she was wrong.


End file.
